What's in a Name
by hairsprayheart
Summary: Parents take great care in choosing the name that their child will be forever christened. What bearing has it on their personality? On their future? Based on the newest movie. Spoilers! Chronicles of Narnia
1. Narnia

What's in a Name

**What's in a Name**

A _Chronicles of Narnia_ Fanfiction

Chapter One

-Narnia-

**Quick A/N: I really hate writing Author's Notes because they take away from the story. I will try my best to write few of them. **

**Anyway: you know the drill – the books and the movies are not mine, but I will try to write as faithfully to the style of C.S. Lewis as in my power. Some things in the books I didn't like and might adjust to my liking. (Could be slightly AU in this way, just to warn you.)**

**This story is based off the second movie and for the **_**most **_**part is just summary/delving into the different characters' thoughts and feelings. (May go further later.) It is written in, mostly, the first person point of view. This is just the intro chapter. Thanks for reading despite this rather long AN – and enjoy!**

_Narnia_.

The name itself would instill in anyone who could truly comprehend its meaning a great sense of wonder. It appeared at first to be some magical realm, complete with mystic beings and a complex culture of its own. (If one was lucky enough to really know the land in its better time, you would be able to bask in its glory because of this Deep Magic. It was this that made the land truly beautiful.) And while it was indeed all of this, it was also, now, a land of great hardship of startling intricacies.

What remained yet unrevealed was just how deep these problems were. With the first arrival of the Children of the Prophecy, the Hundred Years of Winter had ended, and peace reigned under these great kings and queens for a great long while. But this too came to an end in Narnia. Could it come again?

It had been at first slightly troubling to the children that they were only granted entrance to the place when at its very worst state. How grand it would have been to see Narnia's splendor in its heyday! And then they all remembered with some sadness that they _had _seen it and that they _had_ been there. It was hard to convince themselves that it had been the will of Aslan himself – who had also again mysteriously disappeared – that they return home from this spectacular land to dull Professor Digory's estate as children once more. (They later learned, much to their surprise – and embarrassment at their dreadful quick judgment – that he was in fact not dull at all.) This was particularly upsetting due to the long but now expected absence of Aslan, in whom faith was dwindling among both the glum grumbling of Narnia's newer residents and the children he had guided to spiritual and physical maturity so long ago. The creatures took to blaming the children who had come to save them.

But in all of this the majesty of Narnia was not lost, for in some there stirred still the fire of revolution. How noble to die in the fight for a free Narnia, as it once was. And so began the Great Fight for the greatest Cause of all: so that the Narnians could not just live as they pleased, but all unite for a common goal. You see, there have been minotaurs and centaurs and fauns and dwarves and of course all of the lovely Talking Animals. But despite all of the division and differences, there beat in every one of them a strong heart that throbbed steadily in tune. Let it be known that they looked nothing alike, nor did they speak in one dialect or favor the same traditional Narnian dish. Many mourned still over the long-past death of the White Witch. Some came from far off lands and were for Tash, or even for themselves (yes, I do mean the dwarves). There were even a great number of them that still believed in Aslan. It could be said that no two Narnians were alike in this way. But they were all opposed to the destruction of their home – their lives and their world in its entirety – by the vile Telmarines. And it was the fact that one of these very enemies would unite them all in this great war against his own people was perhaps the greatest of all Narnia's mysteries. Though they all felt deep in their hearts that in some way, the battle would be won in their favor, they would never have expected a victory in this fashion. But as Aslan would say, dear one, "Things never happen the same way twice."

Upon the childrens' return to Narnia, things appeared to be in order. Though all was silent, this had come to be – though abnormal – rather comforting after the din they had all just left behind. The beach sand was warm and welcoming – much more so than the damp gloom of the train station and the crowded car they had been ready to board. How luxurious the cool salty breeze on their cheeks, that smelled of freedom and promise! The musty scent of old moth balls and excessive starch lingered on the school uniforms that they were hastily discarding in favor of the ability to go for a swim. Frosted sweat glazed Peter's temple, and he scratched at it absentmindedly, glad to be rid of the last remnants of the trip they had almost made.

It would have saddened them to separate in such a way, without a last journey to Narnia. They had been off to their respective boarding schools; Susan had encouraged Lucy by suggesting that she pretend they were all going off on new adventures. She smiled slightly, recalling this. An adventure, indeed.

Only briefly did the four Pevensie children marvel at their good fortune (you see, Peter and Edmund had just been in a fight – more of a beating on their part really – and Susan had just had a run-in with a eager and quite unattractive young man). There was after tall so much to do and see! There were the good Beavers, and Mr. Tumnus of course, and the mighty Aslan. (Would they miss them, too, after what seemed such a very long year of being gone in the Shadowlands?) Already Peter's shoulder was beginning to feel naked without his trusted shield, and Susan's fingers began to twitch as if hovering indecisively over a quiver of fine arrows. As they rushed jubilantly into the warm arms of the Narnian sea, all of them considered how nice it would be to be back in possession of all the things they'd kept and used for the many wonderful years they'd spend hear, tucked safely away in chests at Cair Paravel. (Most of them missed their weapons, but Lucy just wanted the healing elixir she'd used so frequently that never seemed to run out.)

Now thoroughly wet but quite happy, they began to trudge up the hill towards whatever lay ahead of them. Peter knew that they were headed in the direction of their old dwelling – which faced the sea for trade, transportation, and safety reasons as well as the sparkling view – and in all honesty he didn't mind the short trek to get there. To him and to all of the other children, they had already arrived at their destination. He didn't know how or why he was here (probably Aslan, he guessed) but he was jolly glad about it. This was Narnia. This was _home_.


	2. Susan

What's in a Name

**What's in a Name**

A _Chronicles of Narnia_ Fanfiction

Chapter Two

-Susan-

**Susan Pevensie (Queen Susan, the Gentle)**

Origin: Hebrew

Definition: Lily

Meaning: purity, chastity, virtue

Verse: "…Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, dwell on these things." _Philippians 4:8_

-

This makes absolutely no sense at all.

I mean, I feel kind of bad that I don't exactly believe wholeheartedly in all of this. I know that we're here and everything, but I just can't explain _how_. It actually kind of bothers me. I was all right with the wardrobe – some visible portal that I could touch and understand (or at least, somewhat. I don't think anything that transports you into an entirely different world will ever be understood fully. But you know what I mean). This whole business of a disappearing train tunnel is quite disturbing. Of course I'm delighted to be here again – any grievance I had with this place somehow died away between the many years we spent here and the time away that seemed even longer – but I just can't believe we're actually, really back.

Perhaps I'm just happy to have escaped that dreadful boy back at the station. (He can't follow me in here, can he?) I'm sure it would have been quite a long ride – he would have talked my ear off, I wager – but eventually we would have stopped at my school and we would have parted ways. I would go back to my studies and forget about him. It would be like we never even met. Life would go on as usual, I suppose.

Is that what would have happened, too, with Narnia? Would I forget it, and everyone I met there?

I've been studying and working hard all my life so I could make something of myself. Because in the real world, I'm not part of any fantastical prophecy. I'm just a regular girl whose life became better when she got a new one, and then had to go back to being a lowly schoolchild. Nobody would have believed our wild stories - only Professor Digory, who we stayed with when our mother abandoned us. I don't want to be like my mother. I don't want to fall head-over-heels in love with some dashing prince, only to have him leave me poor and defenseless with four children as he goes off to fight who-knows-where and perhaps not come back. He – Dad, that is – is back now, but I don't think Mum will ever be the same. All her youth is gone: her eyes always have a glazed look, her hair has gone gray, and she's always fretting over something or waiting on Dad. (She says it was for safety that we had to go away, and I forgive her for sending us off just because of Narnia. Narnia made everything okay.) _I _want to be strong and independent, with my own job and my own rules – like I used to have. And I rather like my hair.

I always try my hardest, and believe me, I have tried quite hard to be a better person. It's funny, but I think I learned a lot about it – being good and just and all of it – here in Narnia. Among all the fighting in this odd little world of its own, one can acquire the skill somehow to make peace for herself back in our world. But perhaps it's not strange at all – I suppose being a queen can do that to you. When a whole _country_ is relying in you to lead them and protect them, it's easy to forget about yourself and throw yourself into doing just that. You mold yourself into the desires of your people, when you're royalty. And somehow the whole system collapsed. We were on a stag hunt, you know, that day when we rediscovered the wardrobe and came back to this world. It wasn't a Talking Deer, though. When we grew up there, we still had our fun: all running around like kids again, and best friends too. Things have changed so in this past year. It was like all the memories we made in Narnia never existed. Some snapped bond is hanging before us and between us, a grim reminder of all that we'd once had.

Going home was like returning to school after a long and lovely summer holiday (and we did indeed have to do this – go to school – once "our" war back home was over and everything was rebuilt. That's where we were headed when we were waiting at the station. I would have much preferred staying at Professor Digory's. Or Narnia, where school was neither required nor necessary. As they say, ignorance is bliss). When we were in Narnia, we sort of forgot all about the "real" world – we were there long enough. Like I said before, we all got along perfectly well at Cair Paravel… at least after the whole initial debacle with Ed. Everything was so perfect. It was so lovely wearing all of the grand dresses – which, I might say, were far more comfortable than you would expect – and eat and eat without worrying over war rations for our hungry soldiers fighting in a far-off land. We all especially enjoyed the sweets and sugar, and I think would have gotten quite fat if not for all the horseback riding we did while overseeing the kingdom. (I became quite decent at setting and shooting an arrow while astride.) When we did again come across the wardrobe – this time to go back, and not on purpose – the change was immediate and rather unpleasant. Our old clothes, even our old appearance and physicality was gone. It was as if it had all been a dream – I think I would eventually grown to think this, had we not come back now. And while it will be hard to adapt again, I think we are all used to doing so by now. And it will be worth it.

I wonder sometimes what it would have been like if we had lived longer there. How many more adventures would we have gone on? How many more wars would we have fought, land would we have acquired, and friends would we have made? Would any of us have fallen in love? (Well, Lucy was in love with _everything_ there, even when we'd been there for many years.) I'm sure it's for the better – it was hard enough to leave the others we had met. We would have had to come back sometime, I think. Will they be angry with us for being gone so long? If they are, Peter'll put them in their place – it wasn't any fun for us either (and he in particular did not like having to grow up _again_). I wonder how much time has passed. It would be nice if, since no time passed at home while we were here, that no time passed here while we are at "home" – of course it didn't feel like it any longer. But we're all children again – did time go backwards? Maybe we'll see Digory! It'd be fun to see him so young and spry. But that doesn't seem possible (things do look so different around here now). None of this is possible!

For whatever reason, we are back here now. There must be some reason, somewhere, behind all of it. But it seems as though only God could create something so grand. I wish I could still be happy here, still so innocently believing in all of it. Maybe someone will be able to explain all of this to me, and evoke all the happy feelings in me this place – this spectacular dream of a land – once inspired. If I try hard enough, and with a good will, I hope that the queen I once was and the person I have always wanted to become will be the same, and both of them I will be. I don't think that made much sense, did it? …But it did to me.


	3. Edmund

What's in a Name

**What's in a Name**

A _Chronicles of Narnia_ Fanfiction

Chapter Three

-Edmund-

**Edmund Pevensie (King Edmund, the Just)**

Origin: English

Definition: Protector

Meaning: protection, provision

**Verse:**** "**He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say to the Lord, 'My refuge and my fortress, My God, in whom I trust!' Surely He will save you from the fowler's snare and from the deadly pestilence."**_Psalm 91:1-3_**

-

Watching the other children parade around on the beach is a peculiar thing. Unconsciously, I hesitate before plunging into the foamy wake after them, as if I'm not allowing myself to experience the same pleasure they do in our return. I thought I would have shed all these old inhibitions by now, but after all these years it seems as though the hardest person to forgive is myself.

I have learned to control my regret by making sure that nothing like what caused it will ever happen again. I strive to achieve perfection – I adhered exactly to every law of Narnia, drove my sword a little harder into each enemy of Aslan, and praised him more excessively than most for His mercy. I threw myself into my studies, learning all the old Narnian languages, dishes, dances, and customs, poring over the books in the library and compiling my findings into works of my own. I besieged Peter more often than he probably liked to practice swordsmanship with me, so that if I ever came across the chance to avenge our country's losses, I would do so fearlessly. When things were quiet I played chess in solitude, waging a battle with myself. I distracted myself in anyway possible so I would not be reminded of my own shortcomings. Part of me hated leaving Narnia because Aslan's loving forgiveness was less evident. But so was the reason for its giving.

Things changed abruptly back at "home." Su became snappish and irritable, Peter was inconsistently moody, and even sweet Lucy's resolve began to crumble as she built up a wall around herself of dreams and stories that were nightmarish in detail. We all thought about Narnia, but none of us dared speak of it: not to anyone and especially not to one another. Before, before even the wardrobe, Peter and Susan had been a united front to keep me from demoralizing Lucy. Now, long after anyone has had the hope to approach the topic of Narnia at all, I think I am protecting Lucy from them – and them from themselves.

Once, a long while ago in Narnia, Phillip and I were gallivanting about on a jaunt in the woods when something caught my eye. I left Phillip to graze and went towards the thing, cautiously unsheathing my short sword. I hadn't been expecting to use it, but there were still some that were for the Witch that lurked about and Susan had instructed me that one couldn't be too careful. Upon closer inspection, the object was revealed to indeed be some sort of trap, made with the skilled craftsmanship of a Dwarf and placed strategically in a small pile of lush plant life. Had the Trees not suspected some such treachery and moved aside, the trap would have remained unseen and I suspect Phillip and I would have stumbled across it not too long afterwards – with unpleasant results. Thanking the Tree, I knelt to trick the trap into closing so I could carry it off and dispose of it. But instead the mechanism proved already sprung, as a whimper of protest rose from the far side of the foliage. I uncovered the source of the pathetic noise: a bloodied, plain-faced sort of hound with sad eyes full of questions. Quickly, I worked him free and hefted him onto my shoulder. I'd been expecting him to say something – he was perhaps too surprised at first by the arrival of an intruder and his subsequent rescue to emit a response – but he was not an Animal at all, and only a dog too dumb to heed the warnings of the Trees. I took pity on him (and slight pleasure in knowing the forces of the Witch had lost a victim) and took him home to Lucy. She loved him and cared for him for a long while, and when nursed back to complete health he was a splendid hunting dog. It's little things like these I can see in Lucy's eyes sometimes, when they are clouded over like a stormy sea that reflects all our distant memories. When I squeezed her hand once, her thoughtful expression was comparable to that of a statue. And then, the tiniest smile shone through.

I don't have Lucy's skill at healing someone with her bright spirit, or Susan's gentle advice, or Peter's ability to lead. But these things diminish without faith to nurture them. Emotions are wild and infuriatingly uncontrollable things, and perhaps it is a good thing that I am unattached to them. _I_ like the feeling of armor – something you can control and make a part of yourself. When it ripples in agreement with your own flesh, it is like a second skin; it is you, and you are it. Your body is safe inside that impregnable fortress, and you can hide anything you please in that heavy mail and trust in its safekeeping. The armor, too, is a status symbol – it marks you as somebody to be counted on. Any unfavorable quality is hidden away under that mask of woven metal.

…'S'funny, how it can only really be pierced at close range. I suspect the sharpest things are those you are nearest to. There is a fuzzy memory in the back of my mind, vague images that all blend together now of that fierce face standing over me, and a dull pain that loomed above me in a cloud. I was aware of my own life, trickling away, leaving me from the fiery core of my belly. I remember still the icy tingle of those cuffs on my wrist, sitting in a frozen world where the only life present was my worthless one. A hot stinging grips my jaw where thin fingers once laid a slap with power that belied their delicacy. All the old wounds are gone now, invisible, healed by Lucy's little healing stuff, and Aslan's own mercy. But I still feel internal scars that will never be revoked, because I know that it was not _her_ that caused them, but me.

We were all on our toes for a while there, during that period of those "golden" years. We had all seen Aslan personally defeat the White Witch of winter, but I had also witnessed her great power and could not force myself to believe in her total destruction. Eventually I learned not to doubt Aslan, for in all the things he had done for me I had given him nothing in return. And so began my crusade to make sure that I did whatever I could to do this. In Narnia, I died many times. But never did I remain so. And never was I sorry. Not when I did it for Him.

Our return here is not meaningless. When we go home again, we will once more be changed. We were brought here for a reason – there will be more battles. I will fight to make sure that I protect the land and the people that are mine, not through my own deeds, but His. So whatever it means, I will fight. For Narnia. For Aslan.

This battle cry runs through my mind what it seems is a hundred times before my eyes return to my siblings, my fellow kings and queens, all enjoying themselves in the cool sea of the land that is theirs. And it is mine, too. The gentle Narnian sun casts my shadow behind me, but it is slightly faded, interrupted by the faint and universal silhouette of the refreshing cloud cover that is overhead. I repeat the cry once more silently, for strength, before I leap in after Peter and Susan and Lucy. I am sure that my shadow is following me. But I don't look back.


	4. Lucy

**What's in a Name**

A _Chronicles of Narnia_ Fanfiction

Chapter Three

-Lucy-

* * *

AU: Whoa! This fic lives! Surprised?

* * *

Lucy Pevensie (Queen Lucy, the Valiant)

Origin: Latin

Definition: bringer of light

Meaning: hope, faith, healing

Verse: "Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard." – _Isaiah 58:8_

* * *

My favorite color is a golden yellow. It can be found in the wet sand that clings to the skin between your toes after a trip to the seaside until a bath washes away it, but not the memories. It is the color of the smiling sun that wakes me gently every morning with its soft rays. It is like the shaggy pillow that I so miss burrowing into. It is the color of warmth, of happiness. Of home.

In this sad little tunnel, there is unhappiness everywhere. It is mostly dark, aside from a few dim lights, and everything looks cold and stiff. Like statues.

Peter has been fighting again. Though I usually do not worry, I wonder what will become of us when we are all separated. Edmund has drawn inward and crawled inside some deep place within himself. Susan has become distant and cold; bitter. Things used to be so much easier. I feel that they will get better – they must. I love my family. They are the center of my universe.

All these things are swimming through my head – little minnows in a dirty pond. Then I feel something. It is not exactly painful; more of a surprise, like a birthday party. It is a hot pinch, almost like a spark. It warms me to the core. I think my siblings are playing a game, like we used to, and then they are feeling the same thing and none of us are to blame.

A heartbeat later, we are on a beach. It feels wonderful, almost the most wonderful thing I have ever felt. It makes me happy again, because we are all happy.

There is something about the seaside that appeals to everyone. The seaside I remember was almost visited almost too long ago to remember at all. It was rocky – not the type of sand you can walk barefoot in – and it was frightfully cold and windy. Nothing about the shore was particularly special, it was just that we are all together, before Daddy left for the war. The car ride up was long, and all of us were so cramped in the car, sticky with body heat and excitement, that we were just happy to get out. It had been foggy the whole way, and Mum had been worried that it would stay that way when we got there. All of our gathered energy came out as we played for hours and hours; I can't remember being tired. I just know how beautiful the sun was. It finally came out of the clouds as soon as we stepped foot on the shore. It was lovely, and it looked so close, like you could just reach across the water and grab it. I ran to touch its reflection in the water to bring it back to Peter, and tried to give it to him. He always smiles when he retells the story, how I am thinking of others when I get a gift. I think the sun is a gift.

This beach has real sand to stick our toes in, and we waste no time getting rid of our shoes. Walking barefoot reminds me of Narnia. For a long time we went barefoot, because it stayed mostly warm there after Aslan defeated the White Witch and ended the hundred years of winter. The snow used to seem so cruel in Finchley. None of us liked it anymore, afterward.

Going barefoot isn't the only thing that is familiar. We are all laughing and playing again. Before, there was such fuss – particularly from Mum and Susan – about acting our age (mostly in order to stop talk of Narnia, to keep from bothering Mum or saddening the rest of us when we missed it greatly and couldn't get back). But when we really got older, we weren't concerned at all. People respected us and loved us, and we loved them back. We all had fun, and didn't pretend to be independent or act like stuffy old people. We all need each other, and of course Aslan. There was no wishing to be a different age. We were just happy. It would be nice if people could be happy with what we had. That only seemed to happen in Narnia.

We run, and play, and wonder. What if…?

I want to stay on the beach. But I want more to find out where we are.

I think, in my heart, I already know. All of us know.

But, as is typical, we want proof. We hike up the hill like it is nearly nothing. All it took is a piece of Narnian gold to confirm our hopes and our fears. Of course it had to be gold.

This Narnia is different than what we once knew. But that does not make it any less welcoming. Though our castle – _our_ castle, our _castle_ – lies in ruins, all of us know that our true power comes from something other than our thrones. There is a reason we were brought back here, and surely, it is **here** – and we will find it.

We find the treasure room. Peter finds Rhindon, Edmund his own sword, and Su, her bow. I, of course, have my cordial. Doing the healing is much more preferable than the alternative.

Leaving the room is almost like returning to reality, almost like entering Narnia again. The sun, so much brighter and hotter it seems to be here, looks to be our only guide. It is our light for now, watching us with a warm smile, and when we all ascend the stairs of the last reminder of what once was, all I can think of is what is yet to be. No one looks back at the cave where the rail station once was, because we have all found the light at the end of the tunnel.


End file.
